she warbled in her rich padded contralto, and the envious Miss Snelgrove felt her own small, scratchy soprano contract painfully in her overworked throat.
George Whitaker was to perform a few conjuring tricks which he had learned from a book called Magic in the Home. He had performed them innumerable times in the family circle, with great adroitness and success; but when the evening of the concert came round he vowed he would not be able to do anything.
"I know I shall make an ass of myself," he said repeatedly to every one, and nobody had time to contradict him. About an hour before they were to start he stood with Chérie in the hall, waiting for the others.
Chérie was wearing a white muslin gown of Eva's, which George knew very well, and which made him feel almost brotherly towards her. Mrs. Whitaker and Eva were still upstairs dressing, and Loulou had gone to put Mireille to bed, telling the maid in anxious maternal English to "wake on her, is it not?"
"I know I shall make an ass of myself," repeated George. "My hands are quite clammy."
"What a pity!" sighed Chérie sympathetically, shaking her comely head.
"Most awfully clammy. Just feel them," said George, stretching out to her a large brown hand.
"I can see that they are," said Chérie.
"Oh, but just feel," said George.
Chérie cautiously touched his palm with the tip of one finger. "Most clammy indeed," she said; and George laughed; and Chérie laughed too.